


Fruity Rumpus Asshole Covers

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up after your first drunken fling is always an interesting experience.<br/>You're pretty sure "getting in your pants" is supposed to be a figure of speech.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fruity Rumpus Asshole Covers

Hung over. Absolutely, skull-poundingly, eye-screwingly hung over. That is the state you find yourself in on this fine, bright-as-all-hell morning. While this isn't your typical morning condition, it's not an unfamiliar one.

  
You're face down in a fluffier-than-usual pillow with covers shoved down to your ankles, exposed to the cold morning air with the exception of a scrap of cloth covering your ass that you could have sworn was a pair of boxers when you put them on yesterday but feels far too flimsy now to be so.

  
Groaning against the twittering of birds and bright light of the world outside, you reach out to grab the pillow next to you and cover your head with it, as one is wont to do when hung over and hating the too-loud, too-bright world.

  
Instead of fluffy pilow, however, your fingers grasp coarse hair.

  
You freeze, arm still extended to one side of the bed, and your unknown bedfellow shifts. You feel their warm body press against yours and hear a high, sleepy laugh. Slender fingers tangle themselves in your hair and give a light tug. You groan despite yourself.

  
"That bad, huh?" Wonders a female voice you can't seem to place. You almost groan again as you realize there is a stranger in your bed--no, you're in hers. The night before is a blur and your hangover isn't helping you remember at all who it is that just gave your ass a friendly wake-up pat.

  
You slowly raise your dizzy head from the pillow to take in the woman in what appears to be your favorite sweater.  
Her black hair is long and in complete disarray, sticking out at all angles. She grins at you with buck teeth, and it reaches her sleepy green eyes. The skin that isn't hidden by your sweater is a rich brown color spattered with dark freckles, and the hand that isn't on your rear bears a chipped blue paintjob on nails chewed short.

  
When she stretches lazily, you get an eyeful of fantastic guns and a cute round belly that pudges out over. . . skin and hair. There's not a single scrap of cloth conceiling your view of anything from her navel down. Despite being fairly certain you've had sex with this woman, you feel a red blush crawling to your face.

  
She laughs again and it's one of those laughs that kind of sits between completely adorable and gratingly obnoxious.

  
"You look pretty good in those."

  
Your brow furrows and you take a slow inventory of the clothing on your body. You're completely uncovered except for your strangely small and flimsy--

  
Your head moves too fast and you're rewarded with a twinge of pain. You groan and cover your face with one hand, opting to examine your undergarments with a hand while waiting for the stars to clear from your vision.

  
Cloth that's a lot thinner and silkier than that of your boxers and . . . why is there next to nothing on your hip?

  
You slowly peek out from between your fingers and take in the green thong that's barely keeping you decent. It's covered in a cute little fruit pattern and there's a tiny red bow on the front that probably matches the shade of your cheeks.

  
She is covering her mouth with both hands, but you can practically feel the grin on her face. It's becoming clearer by the minute that you were the drunker of the two of you last night.

  
"I'm serious, that's a good look on you," she says, only laughing a little.

  
"Am I ever gonna get a fucking explanation as to how I ended up in these?" you grumble, covering your eyes with one bony grey hand.

  
"After I make you some coffee for that hangover, sure--unless you need to get going somewhere?"

  
You contemplate it as seriously as your frazzled mind can. You are almost certain that you have no prior obligations, but the question remains: do you really want to stick around?

  
Another question supercedes that one.

  
"I know it's some kind of drunken escapade faux-pass to not remember your name but this has to be the worst hangover known to man and trollkind. I've gotta be breaking some kind of record with the pure angry force of this--"

  
"It's Jade Harley," she says, putting a finger to your lips to stop your barely intelligible ranting, "and you, mister man-panties, are Karkat Vantas, if I remember right?"

  
You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything intelligent anymore. She grins at you again, sitting back on her heels, and you try again to contemplate your choices.

  
You're in the home of a cute girl who apparently finds your body less than ugly, seems pretty clever, is offering you coffee and not tossing you out of her bed, and thinks you look good in her underwear.

  
You figure it couldn't hurt to let her know how you take your coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> This might go on for two or more chapters.


End file.
